I am forced to be thus particular because, although in God’s providence I knew it not, I was about to pass through another crisis of my adventurous life. Before dusk I was in the trenches, and lying down amid a crowd of silent men. Hamilton walked to and fro among them, seeing that all were ready, and at last tied a piece of surgeons’ bandage around my left arm, a precaution also taken as to the men that they might be distinguished in the darkness from the enemy.
Pioneers with fascines and ladders were a little later put out in front of the trenches, and with them the sappers and axemen under Captain Kirkpatrick. Within the crowded trenches and behind them the detachment of four hundred men lay ready.
It was cold, and a drizzling rain would have made it needful, under ordinary circumstances, to keep the pans of the muskets dry; but all loads were drawn, and the marquis meant to trust to the bayonet alone. Jack was afoot, and in his gay fashion was saying something merry to his men. I heard the marquis cry, “Silence!” in queer English, and down the line I could hear officers repeating his order.
For a little while all was still.
“Good-by,” said my Jack. His hand was damp, and shook.
“You dear old idiot!” said I.
It was now close to eight, and of a sudden our cannon ceased. I dimly saw, a few yards away in the deep trench, the marquis looking back toward our camp. The enemy, glad, I dare say, of a chance to cool their guns, also stopped firing. I wished to heaven this horror of waiting were over.
Then a rocket rose high in air over our camp. “Ready, men!” said Hamilton, while I drew my long Hessian blade.
Six bombs in quick succession rose and went over us. I heard the marquis cry out, “En avant! Forward!”
“Forward, sappers” cried a voice in front.